Hasss
Xiao Chen gently placed a wet napkin on his purple bruise. All over his body, there were many more bruises, but the one on his face hurt the most.
He laid himself down on his makeshift bed, a piece of thick cloth spread over cold, hard ground. Though he carried the Xiao surname, in truth, he was never truly one of them. His father was unknown—only that a man had approached his mother, a maid, and disappeared soon after. He was born from that brief, faceless union. His mother hated him. The Xiao clan hated him. The world hated him.
Not exactly what he expected after reincarnating.
There was no golden finger, no cheat, no system. He was a mortal. Powerless.
And now that Xiao Yan had left, he was the next favorite target.
A few minutes ago, they had laughed as they kicked him into the thorn bushes. One had been kind enough to offer a cloth to wipe his face—after urinating on it.
Yet even now, with crusted blood on his lips and a cracked rib, Xiao Chen didn't curse the world. It was just the nature of things. To hate, to exploit, to destroy. That was the law of the weak. That was the truth of this world.
He closed his eyes.
Ten years. Ten years he had tried to sense Dou Qi, the mystical force that separated mortals from cultivators. Ten years of failure. And yet he always tried. Always.
Tonight was different.
He drifted—not asleep, not awake. The veil between dreams and reality shimmered like a mirage.
"The dark... also known as the heaven of others' freedom... appearing to witness suffering and achieve enlightenment... to offer grass, transforming into a luminous dragon... to offer thorns to guide growth... to offer water to guide the fire... yin and yang to speak to heaven and earth..."
The chant was not his. It came from somewhere else, whispered by a hundred thousand voices, echoing within him. It filled him. It suffocated him. It made him feel alive.
His legs moved on their own. His thoughts had long stopped. Xiao Chen stepped outside, moonlight bathing the courtyard. Still barefoot, still in rags, he walked to the fish pond. There, he reached down and grabbed a carp. The fish thrashed in his grip, but he didn't let go.
He staggered to the thorn bush—the one they'd shoved him into. He pulled it out with trembling hands. Blood trickled down his arms as the thorns bit into his flesh.
He built a small mound. A makeshift altar.
"The dark... also known as the heaven..."
His voice was raw, but the chant had power. His body shuddered as a cold, unearthly strength rose from within. Xiao Chen stumbled, fell to one knee, but didn't stop.
The thorns erupted in ghostly blue flame.
Offer thorns to guide growth.
He threw the carp into the fire. It wailed—not with sound, but with pain that echoed inside his skull. The flesh peeled. The bones twisted, extended, grew until a skeletal fish the size of a man hovered before him, coiling in the air like a spirit beast.
Dark whispers followed. Demonic, ancient, eager.
Prove yourself.
Prove the demonic path.
He could hear them. He could feel them waiting.
And he knew. He would offer one more thing. Something dear. Something pure.
His eyes slowly turned.
Xiao Yu.
The older sister of the clan. The one who treated him kindly. The one who smiled at him even when the rest of the clan avoided his presence. She believed in him. Protected him.
But her kindness had been a curse. It was because of her that he was hated even more by the elders. Her affection was a defiance of their judgment. And he had paid the price.
To repay kindness with betrayal. That was the true nature of demons.
He reached into his sleeve. There, wrapped in cloth, was a small glass vial. Inside, black liquid clung to the walls.
A poison he'd hidden for years.
She would help him prove his Dao.
His hand closed around the vial.
And Xiao Chen walked forward